His Angel
by Cousin Mary
Summary: And alive, and was dead. And behold I am living for ever and ever and have the keys of death and of hell.' The Apocalypse of St. John. A Da Vinci CodeBTVS xover. SilasBuffy
1. His Angel

Usual disclaimers apply. I don't own BTVS or the Da Vinci Code, but if I did the action figures would rock!

His Angel

By: Cousin Mary

Buffy walked down the street slow enough that he could follow. Not that she didn't think he'd be able to follow her even if she were running, but she was starting to like the idea that he was there.

She scrunched her nose, absently swinging her new Gucci bag off freshly manicured fingertips. It wasn't even that he reminded her of Spike, though the stalker-boy qualities were notable, there was something else about him. Probably something that would ultimately lead to badness, but it didn't really change anything at the moment.

She swung her bag to her left hand as she strolled into an alley, freeing up her right for a stake. It was dusk and there'd be things to slay soon. She had picked up her tag-along about a month after they'd arrived in Rome. Dawn had quickly been enrolled in a local school, which she'd complained about to no end, until that is, she met Antonio who was sixteen and had a scooter. Buffy had wanted to dislike him, he was dating her little sister! But it was hard to hate a boy with dimples and a slight stutter, even if he was like a gazillion feet tall and star of the soccer team. And Dawn was happy and that's what mattered.

Sighing, Buffy considered her own lonely state of being. Sure there was the Immortal, but doing anything other than flirting with 'The Immortal' was out of the question. He wouldn't even tell her his real name! In her head she called him 'Otis'… sometimes, 'The Otis.'

Buffy perked up when she heard footsteps behind her, hoping it would be her first of many slays of the night. But no, there was a heartbeat. She turned casually, trying to look like she'd taken a wrong turn and was just about to wander back out into well-lit propriety. She gasped, it was him. She stared, not at all sure what to say.

It'd been three months since she'd followed that Carrot, or Ka'root whatever, Demon into that tiny church well off the tourist track. She could still remember the place, dimly lit like a crypt, it smelled like beeswax candles and dampness. The pews had been falling apart and it was obvious that no congregation met there, but the altar was festooned with lilies and roses like it was ready for Easter Mass. She'd only had a moment to take in her surroundings before the demon had attacked.

There'd been a lot of blood. A lot. Hers and the demon's. The only way to take out a Ka'root was the ol' slice and dice, add that it had twelve inch claws of its own and that added up to blood splatters on the walls, floors and a disturbing amount splashed over the flowers.

In the end she'd won, of course. She'd fallen into the last, unbroken pew and just looked up at all the flowers she'd ruined. Her slayer healing had kicked in, but she was still feeling kind of woozy. After a few minutes she felt strong enough to stand and knowing she had hauling off demon bits to look forward to, she slowly climbed to her feet with a slight groan. She was getting too old for this, and her pumps were ruined!

She was still scowling at her ruined footwear when she noticed him. She bit back a curse as she realized someone had caught the show. Of course, being in the Eternal City meant there were plenty of people running around who already knew about vampires, demons and what went bump in the night, but still most didn't and she was hoping who ever was there would just faint or something so she could go home and wash all the blood off.

She turned toward the slight movement in the shadows and could just barely make out the rough robes of a monk. He had his hood pulled up so she couldn't make out his face, but there was something about the way he stood there. He wasn't afraid exactly, but… Well, she didn't know what to make of him.

"Hi!" He felt human, so Buffy let her face go into her best non-threatening, gee-what-just-happened, smile. "Uh, you don't happen to speak English maybe?"

"I will take care of the corpse for you," He took a step forward, but didn't lower the hood.

His accent was thick, his voice low and raspy. Buffy felt a trill of something shoot down her spine, almost like her spidey sense, but not. "Who are you?" Buffy called back, biting her lip for a moment, wondering if this was a good idea, "Show me your face."

"They call me," He hesitated. She didn't think he was considering running, but he paused a lot longer than she would think someone would. He took a step closer to her, he was still a good ten feet away, but it was close enough for the Slayer to know there wasn't anything supernatural about him. She watched in a sort of fascination as pale, really pale, hands rose to push back the hood. He stared at her through pale eyes, his expression perfectly blank. "Silas."

Buffy's eyes widened and she had to actually consciously re-check with the Slayer before admitting that this man was 100 human. He was super pale, paler than any vampire she'd ever seen. She'd seen albino demons before, with pale moon eyes that would catch the light red, but without the demonic presence, she felt a little at a loss. Of course, intellectually she knew there were plenty of people with this condition out there, tons of perfectly normal, everyday, shop at the Mall people who lived totally normal lives. Silas didn't seem normal, and that didn't have much to do with the paleness.

She found herself fidgeting from one foot to the other. The blood on her skin was starting to dry and it itched and pulled at her skin. She looked down at the demon… parts, "So you can take these? They need to be burned."

He nodded solemnly.

"Um, okay, thanks," She bit back a nervous laugh, this guy was freaking her out and she killed vampires for a living! "So you already know about," She gestured vaguely at what was probably half a leg.

He hesitated again, but nodded slowly.

Buffy didn't quite believe him, but she just wanted to get out of there. "Okay, well, great. Thanks for, uh, dealing with that." She walked quickly out of the blood drenched church, taking the back alleys home so no one would see her Carrie look.

A week had past before she saw Silas again, corner of her eye at one of the farmer market type places that would shoot up on weekends. She'd been with Dawn, so she hadn't confronted him or anything, just nodded in his direction. After a while she'd known he was following her, mostly on patrols but occasionally on her normal sight-seeing and shopping type outings. He'd never approached her and she'd just grown used to having him there, weird as it was.

But now he was here, standing right in front of her, in an alleyway in a bad part of town. Buffy fought against stepping into a defensive stance, he was human, there'd be plenty of time for that if he tried anything.

"Silas," She smiled in greeting like this was a completely normal situation and she wasn't the least bit freaked.

"Signorina Buffy."

Her eyes narrowed a bit. She'd never told him her name, of course she'd let him follow her for way too long for him not to have picked it up. He'd better not know Dawn's name. "What brings you out tonight, Silas?"

He looked away at the outline of some bricked up door before bringing his strange eyes back up to meet hers, then dropping them in what was maybe supposed to be respect to the ground, "There is a house."

She frowned. A house? "Something happening there?"

He nodded.

"Uh, should we go now?" Buffy was at a loss. Maybe there was demon activity there? Maybe he was looking for a place to put his low interest rate loan to work?

He walked off, apparently she was supposed to follow. She did, thinking about what a bad idea this was the entire way. They ended up in a dingy block of houses converted into tiny apartments. She could feel the nest before he pointed out the building with the faded white trim. Crouching down, she circled it, trying to peer in the grimy windows, quietly checking for a way in. Silas followed, eyes more on her than the building.

"I'm going in, stay here." She handed him a spare stake out of her designer bag, then as an afterthought, stashed the bag behind a stack of wood by a wall. She wasn't letting anything happen to her favorite new accessory. "I feel weird saying this since I don't know you at all, but if any get past me…"

"Through the heart, yes?" He was looking at the ground again.

"You can handle that? 'Cause if not I can go get back up," Buffy's mind was already on the nest, it'd been awhile since she'd had one to herself.

He nodded and took a reasonably thought out position by the back entrance. Seconds later she had the door down and the screams poured out into the street as she worked.

Silas's eyes shone in the dark and he whispered reverently, "A true angel."

.

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	2. Forgive Me

I just wanted to keep going with this. What can I say? I dug Silas ;-)

Disclaimers: Don't own BTVS, don't own the DVC

His Angel

By: Cousin Mary

It was late when Buffy finally left the nest. There had been a large number of vamps and some had tried to hide in crawl spaces and the basement. She was covered in dust, cobwebs and who knew what else. Her pumps were a lost cause, again.

She'd almost forgotten about Silas until she nearly tripped over him. He'd been on his knees, praying or something. There were at least two piles of vamp dust around him, so some had gotten past her. He caught her as she stumbled and she found herself tucked neatly in his lap as he sat back.

He was warm and his breath hot against her cheek. His hands weren't anywhere inappropriate, but he didn't seem in a hurry to let her up either.

"Are you well?" He asked in a breath.

"Nifty keen," She smiled and awkwardly climbed to her feet. She fetched her purse from where she'd stashed it, the pretty little bag making her feel instantly better. She should go back and buy it in taupe too.

He rose in one easy movement to his sandaled feet. His coarse brown robes looked none the worse for wear and his large wooden crucifix bumped and swayed with his movements.

"I will walk you back to your home," He tilted his head in an oddly formal manner, his strange eyes were fixed and unblinking on her.

"Uh, that's okay," Buffy rocked back on her heels and fussed a bit with her skirt, "Let's walk back downtown and I'll go from there."

He just looked at her with no real expression on his pale face and finally nodded once. He followed barely half a step behind, which was much closer than he'd ever been before, minus the lap thing. But she'd tripped!

She could hear him breathing behind her. Shallow little breaths that spoke of high emotions. She wasn't sure what to make of her pale shadow, he made her uneasy but for some reason she didn't want to just leave him, "Tell me about yourself Silas." His breath hitched a bit, and belatedly she realized he was just as uncomfortable with her as she was with him, "Unless you really don't want to, which is totally understandable."

"Thank-you," He was doing that breath talk again. Not really a whisper, that would have been louder. It was more like, well, like he was just mouthing the words with little behind them. If she hadn't been a slayer she might not have heard him at all.

As they came to a large intersection he moved up to take her arm. It was a formal, old-timey good manners thing that Riley had pulled every once in awhile, but on Silas it came across as something he wasn't sure if he should be doing. She let her hand linger on his bicep a little longer than necessary, just to see what he'd do. He left it there, but his back stiffened.

It wasn't a long walk. The sun was just starting to lighten the sky in the east and the air was pleasantly cool before what promised to be another hot day. Somewhere church bells began to ring, which seemed to set off a series of sights and smells. People hurrying out the door, the scent of strong coffee and baking bread.

Silas moved ever so slightly closer to her when anyone passed them as they walked. His head was down and every once in awhile his hand would raise to his hood, though he hadn't pulled it up yet.

At last they came to the cobble-stoned side street that led to the tiny church she'd first met him in. He paused on the corner, looking at her with unreadable pale eyes that flashed red in the dawning light. His stillness was probably the most startling thing about him. You'd think it would be the paleness, but that was easy to look past. The way he stood there, completely unmoving, unblinking, barely breathing took Buffy a step away from herself. He was human, but there was something that made her take special notice of him anyway.

"Signorina Buffy," He inclined his head and slowly faded away down the still dark street.

Something took her over, something mischievous and a little naughty. She ran the few steps after her pale shadow and popped in front of him. He was obviously startled, but didn't step back. Points for him. She smiled up at him and then rose to tip-toes to kiss his cheek with a loud smacking noise, "Have a good morning Silas."

And with that she skipped away, leaving mister tall, pale and silent staring after her.

.

Two days passed and Dawn was away for the weekend with Antonio's family. Buffy was a little freaked, but really if anything Antonio's extremely formidable Catholic mother and grandmother were much better chaperons that the slayer could ever hope to be. Dawn probably wouldn't even get to hold hands with her boyfriend the entire time she was gone.

Buffy strolled down the street towards the market, swinging an empty canvas bag she planned to fill with flowers and maybe some wine. Nothing useful and all girly, she was alone in one of the world's most romantic cities and she deserved something pretty to put on her empty, lonely table.

She had dressed in a back and white striped sundress and braided straw high-heeled sandals. Huge over-sized sun-glasses were perched on top her head and her hair was in a tight bun. She was having an Audrey Hepburn kind of day.

She should have borrowed her sister's boyfriend's scooter. Then she could have Roman Holiday'd about, just yelling 'Ciao!' at all the cute boys. The slayer smiled at her silly thoughts. Sometimes all it took was sunshine and the promise of a day of shopping to turn her back into the California cheerleader she'd been a lifetime ago.

Silas came out of no where. One minute she'd been trying to master that prim little gait of Ms. Hepburn's and the next thing she knew she was getting pulled in through a side door she hadn't even realized was there for anything other than decoration. Strangely enough the first thing she did wasn't deck the albino for grabbing her. No, she saw it was Silas and pulled back her fist just shy of his face. He barely flinched, just pulled her away from the door and shut it quickly.

"You are in grave danger," His eyes were on the floor, not her.

"That's no surprise," Buffy wrinkled her nose, then took the opportunity to glance around the neat and tidy living room they were standing in. Ten to one this was someone's grandmother's place. She could tell by the lace doilies covering ever surface, "Why with the grabby? Couldn't you just have said 'Hey Buffy! Over here?"

Silas looked horrified, "I would never speak to you in such a disrespectful way Signorina Buffy."

"But the grabbing is fine?" She arched a brow.

"My apologies," His eyes raised to hers for a moment and she could easily see that he was truly upset for offending her. Though he really hadn't, she wasn't upset, just surprised. She'd been looking forward to some quality shopping time and now she had to worry about 'grave danger.' Oh well, nothing new there.

"No big," She shrugged, "So what bad guy is after me now? And I hope you aren't going to go all cryptic on me, 'cause that so wastes time."

He was back to staring at the floor, which was getting old. Buffy put her hand on his chin, about to make him look her when he fell. No, not fell, just went to his knees. Buffy started to jump back, but he grasped her hand to his face and kissed her knuckles almost reverently.

"I have betrayed you Signorina," His words were husky and deep, like he was getting ready for a good crying jag, "I spoke and the wrong ears took notice."

"Huh?" Buffy was stunned, too shocked to move. Silas seemed to have the effect on her more and more. She watched as he pressed his lips to the back of her hand, then rolled it over and placed too pale lips to her palm. He was breathing/whispering little words in Latin but she couldn't quite make them out. She got that he was trying to apologize for something though, "Wait, tell me what happened."

His eyes lifted to hers again and they shone with tears. He stayed on his knees and kept her hand trapped in his large, surprisingly strong grasp, "I went to confess my sins…"

"Priests usually don't mind if you dust vamps," Buffy told him, "You know, as long as they actually know about them. Did this guy think you were killing humans?"

His eyes dropped, "The priest wasn't."

"Wasn't…" Buffy trailed off just like he did, before realizing what he meant, "Oh! You mean it wasn't really a priest in the confessional and you- Oh, you told him about me?"

Silas nodded, one lone sob escaping his lips but the tears weren't falling, "Forgive me, please. Please."

This was getting to be a little more than Buffy was comfortable with. Hell, who was she kidding? This was -way- past her comfort zone. Suddenly something awful occurred to her, "Silas? What do you think I am?"

His eyes were on her mouth, as if he could understand the question better if he watched it form. When he didn't answer she asked again. Finally his eyes slipped closed and he released her hand. His fingertips grazed the floor as his head tipped back, "An angel, you are God's angel."

Buffy frowned and back away a step, then another. His eyes opened, staring at her questioningly. "Silas, I'm not…"

"You were chosen by God," Silas stayed on his knees but his expression was once again unreadable, "This I know without doubt."

"I- maybe chosen," Buffy nodded a bit, too many priests, rabbis and other churchy-types had called her such for her to really argue, "But not so much with the angel-ness."

He didn't look convinced. But suddenly it didn't matter as the building was rocked by a huge explosion that threw them both hard against the far wall.

The last thing Buffy thought before unconsciousness took her was that she really wasn't explaining this right.

.

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	3. Her Pale Shadow

Disclaimers: Don't own BTVS, don't own the DVC

A/N: In this chapter I'm having Silas quote the Bible and using that in the story. If you think there's any chance that that would offend you please choose another story. Of course, given this is a Da Vinci Code crossover, you probably can take it ;-)

His Angel

By: Cousin Mary

Buffy woke up tied to a chair. It was one of those metal pipe numbers and with rope so it wouldn't be too hard to break out, but most likely she'd bend the chair legs and take a face plant before getting loose. Which wouldn't matter life or death wise, but the floor didn't look particularly clean, and there was a puddle of something stagnant in the middle of the room. And she so didn't want that puddle anywhere near her clothes or hair.

She frowned and looked around the rest of her cell. And it was a cell, no doubt about that. Standard baddie lair material. Windowless with only one door. It had concrete floor, stained unpainted drywall and the classic, single bare light-bulb swinging overhead on a chain. Really, now it was just a matter of waiting for the vampires and/or mobster demon types to come in and try to get whatever information they wanted out of her. Then she'd break loose, make with the slaying and get back home in time for Dawn's check-in call.

As if on cue the heavy door creaked open and several figures filed in. Not vamps, not demons… monks. Monks? Which made her remember, "Silas?"

"Will be fine," The first robe clad man spoke with a calm grandfatherly voice. His robes were of a bit finer material than Silas tended to be. His crucifix was silver and gold. He was tall, on the heavy side with gray hair and a droopy jowly kind of face that would have put her at ease if it weren't for the billyclub he was carrying.

The other two monks were younger, both dark haired and olive skinned. They were opening glaring at her. One stood there with his hands hidden by the long arms of his robe, the other was more worrisome. He was carrying a first-aid kit. And she wasn't hurt…yet.

Of course, since they'd tied her with rope and obviously thought they'd be enough to take her so she still had the advantage. All she had to do was figure out what to do with it. She couldn't slay humans, but she could knock them unconscious and get the heck out of there.

"Look," She began, "I don't know who you people think I am, but-"

The first blow came as a surprise. She'd thought they'd at least ask her a few questions before making with the violence. But there it was, the hardened plastic landed across the side of the face and stars of white pain exploded in her eyes. She tasted a bit of blood in her mouth but she was pretty sure nothing but skin was broken. She swallowed and turned her eyes back to the group.

"Miss Summers," The first monk wiped the club on his robe, idly shining her blood away, "We know who and what you are."

Buffy didn't answer.

"What we want from you is what you're protecting," The leader of the evil monks rested the tip of the club on Buffy's shoulder, then let it trail across her throat to her other shoulder, "Something that rightfully belongs to us."

"Hey, my Gucci bags are mine and mine alone. You-"

The second blow to the face was echoed a moment later across her back. The door opening again went unnoticed as the blows rained down. The sound of a primal scream, however, caught the entire room by surprise.

It was Silas. Naked, covered in blood, he blew into the room like a storm and tore into the monks without pause. He had the would-be medic's neck snapped before anyone reacted. The second monk with the hidden hands pulled back his sleeves to reveal two wicked looking knives. Silas knocked the blades away and threw him into the wall, following him down with a series of blows that ended with a wet splintering sound, then stillness.

Everything had happened so fast Buffy hadn't had time to think, much less stop it. She tore away the ropes, flipping the chair in the process. She landed on her hands and knees on the floor as Silas turned his attention to the last man. The grandfatherly monk had drawn away to the far wall. He was staring at albino with wide, terrified eyes.

"Silas!" Buffy pulled the last of the ropes away and scrambled to her feet, "Silas, you have to stop."

The pale monk didn't seem to hear her. He scooped up one of the fallen blades and sneered at older man. One step, then another, his arm came up with the knife.

"No!" Buffy lunged forward and pulled Silas away. They landed in a heap on the floor with the monk's blood slicked skin slipping past Buffy's hands. "You can't! He's human, you can't kill humans!"

Silas froze, staring at her with little expression. There were gashes in his back that trickled hot blood down over his colorless chest and on to Buffy beneath him. His free hand came up to brush the rapidly darkening bruises on her cheek and chin. His eyes met hers, "They have no right to touch you."

The older monk was creeping out of the room. Silas didn't seem to notice and Buffy let him go. She wasn't sure she could stop her pale shadow from killing him if he didn't get out now. Silently she thought over what had happened. Her mind was reeling. Sure she'd been taken captive before but by humans was a new twist. And what she protected? What did she have that monks… Oh God. Dawn.

Her eyes widened, "I've got to get out of here. I've got to protect her."

He was laying half on her, his weight pinning her to the ground. His hand was still up, hovering just off her face. The sound of his breathing changed.

"We have to go," Buffy gently pushed him away. As she left the room he followed closely.

She tried not to think about what he'd done. Of the two bodies they'd left in her cell. Silas had been in a similar cell down the hall from her and they stopped for him to retrieve his blood soaked robes. It was only then she notice the raw scars around each of his thighs, wounds that would have taken much longer than one day to cause. She took another glance at his ravaged back and asked if he needed to go to the doctor. He just shook his head.

They made their way out of the half-abandoned building they'd been held in and took the side streets back to her flat. Of course it'd been ransacked. Buffy carefully tip-toed through the papers and broken bits of furniture that lay scattered across her carpet. They'd opened every drawer and cabinet. Slit open the cushions on the couch and even up-turned the fish tank. It was a mess, almost everything was ruined, but there was a bright side. The monks obviously didn't know that the Key wasn't something you could fit in a shoe box. They didn't know what it was a her. Dawn was safe… more or less.

"Who were they?" Silas finally asked in his deep breathy way. He was limping after her as she went through what was left of her belongings. He hadn't really looked at any of the items that were strewn everywhere, he either kept his head down or watched her. It wasn't until she was sitting on her bedroom floor picking through which clothes had managed to stay non-ripped that he asked.

Buffy hesitated, she wasn't sure what to do. Sure she'd been okay with letting her pale shadow follow her for the past months but to trust him with this? On the other hand, if she didn't say it was Dawn… And he was a monk, maybe he'd actually know something about who she was facing, "I'm not sure. I – I'm supposed to be protecting something."

As she paused, Silas slipped closer to her. His hand came up as if to touch her shoulder, but he let it drop. Then he was once again on his knees beside her, though with her sitting on the floor he was slightly above her. "You were trusted with a holy relic?"

Buffy bit back a smile. Oh Dawn would –so- love being called a relic, "Something like that."

Silas nodded solemnly, "Do you know which Order challenges you so?"

"Well, it was the Order of Dagon that started it all," Buffy frowned, "But I thought they were all supposed to be dead."

Silas's eyes widened and then shut tightly, "Tulerunt Philisthim arcam Dei et intulerunt eam in templum Dagon et statuerunt eam iuxta Dagon."

"Hey, hey," Buffy sighed, Silas was practically trembling. She reached out and touched his arm, "Silas? No Latin okay? I'm barely picking up Italian and I live here."

The monk's pale eyes cracked and his mouth dropped open a little. He knelt there staring at her with that same stillness that almost made her question whether he was real or not. Sometimes he looked like a marble statue that just happened to breathe occasionally.

"And the Philistines took the Ark of God, and brought it into the temple of Dagon, and set it by Dagon," Silas recited, "First Book of Kings."

"Huh?" Buffy shook her head, "Oh! No, not the Ark! So not Indiana Jones here. Something else. Something kinda worse." She chewed her bottom lip, "It really needs to be kept out of the wrong hands."

"It is said the Ark could destroy nations with plagues and fire," Silas watched her, his eyes flashing red with the light from the setting sun slanting through the windows.

The slayer sighed. It was moments like these where she realized how very strange her position as 'the Chosen One' really was. Silas would never understand it, but were their beliefs really that different? When it came down to it, the forces of good were mostly the same everywhere. It was just the poetry that got things confused, "Maybe, uh, kinda more of the Key?"

After a moment Silas nodded, "Revelations, 'And alive, and was dead. And behold I am living for ever and ever and have the keys of death and of hell."

"Uh, yeah, that'd probably be it," Buffy had to look away. Too many prophecies had screwed with her life and she hated that there might be even more about her little sister.

"And I saw an angel coming down from heaven, having the Key of the bottomless pit," Silas went on, rocking back to his heels and swaying slightly. His expression was as unreadable as ever, but his breathing was quick and shallow and he almost fainted when Buffy grabbed his arm.

She climbed to her feet and pulled Silas up with her, "Come on, we should get going."

"As you say," He moved towards the door, head down.

"Wait," Buffy shook her head, "We've got to clean your wounds and get you something to wear, you know, something not covered in blood."

He stood there, a statue once again. Still and unfathomable.

"I think we've got some of Xander's stuff somewhere," She moved off to look, but not before directing him to the shower.

She managed to find an outfit that would probably work, but there was a reason Xander had left them. They were kinda on the tacky side, and really, when Andrew made comments about your clothes it was time to stuff them in a box and forget about them. Buffy had at least found a pair of half-way decent khakis and some boots that would work. Though the poor man got to choose from a powder blue 'Built to Spill' concert tee with fairy wings on the back, or a pink Mr. Bubble tee that was really, really pink.

"Silas?" She knocked on the bathroom door. The shower had shut of a few minutes ago but he hadn't come out. She held the bandages and creams in one hand and knocked again, "I should really dress some of those wound. We wouldn't want them to get infected."

She heard a click as the door was unlocked, but it didn't open. She tried the handle and a billow of steam poured out, smelling of body wash and something else, something male. It'd been awhile and he smelled really good. Buffy closed her eyes and shook her head. Bad Buffy, no thinking like that. She opened the door wider and took a step in.

Silas stood nude in the middle of the small bathroom. He'd obviously dried off, but the towel lay crumpled by the sink. He made no move to cover himself, just bent his head in that respectful way that annoyed her so much.

She drew a steadying breath, determined not to react. "We'll do the legs first, sit up on the sink."

He hesitated a moment, then moved to perch on the cool porcelain.

The wounds on his thighs circled all around. They had a pretty pattern to them, if you could find anything pretty in what had clearly been some sort of torture. She wanted to ask him about it, but at the same time she was afraid to. She poured disinfectant on piece of gauze and was as gentle as possible as she worked. He didn't react other than to let out one tiny whimper when she hit a patch that was probably starting to become infected. She shot him an apologetic glance before going over it again.

That he was nude didn't go unnoticed. It had been a long time since she'd been this close to an unclothed man. And Silas was pale perfection. Muscles gleamed under freshly bathed alabaster skin. There was a light sprinkling of translucent hair dotting his chest, a little more on his legs and arms. She avoided looking, but there too.

She rolled the bandages over his thighs and he had to shift to allow it. He was reacting to her, she could see him from the corner of her eye. She could smell it past the steam too. She felt a little light headed.

"Signorina," He breathed as if in pain.

Her eyes met his and she froze. The bandages fell to the floor, "Silas."

And she kissed him. She couldn't help it. He was just so close, so warm and perfect. He didn't react at first. His hands clutching, white knuckled, the edge of the sink. But as he felt her tongue sweep against his lips he opened to her. His hands came up to pull her close. He was lost.

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FYI: The Latin and Quotes came from http/ I'm not sure if I want to move this into the realm of adultness or fade to black. Thoughts?


	4. Creepy Hot

Disclaimers: Don't own BTVS, don't own the DVC

His Angel

By: Cousin Mary

The shrill sound of the phone ringing broke through to her after a few seconds. She clung to Silas, just breathing for a moment longer before pulling away to answer it. The phone was in the chaotic living room and she made her way there on unsteady legs. It was Dawn, of course, her sister always had the worst timing.

"Hello?" Dawn was repeating herself, probably because Buffy had just lost another second staring at the phone.

"Yeah, I'm here," Buffy shoved her hand through her already disheveled hair, Silas was watching from the bathroom. Still nude and statue still, but now flushed pink with emotion, "Dawnie, uh, don't panic, but we had a break in."

"Oh shit," Her sister repeated what Buffy had told her away from the phone, probably to Antonio, "Did they take the DVDs? Oh, they didn't get my laptop did they? I knew I should have put it in the safe!"

"Uh, no to the DVDs," Buffy glanced around, "I don't see your laptop, they might have taken that. That's not what they were after though."

On the other end of the line Dawn fell silent. Maybe she recognized the tone of her sister's voice, maybe on some level she'd always known there was a chance it would happen again, "They were looking for what Glory wanted?"

Buffy nodded, "Yeah."

"You want me to come home?" Dawn sounded unsure, but not completely wigged. Her little sister was growing up.

"Maybe if you could stay there awhile?" Buffy asked after a moment, "I could see what I can dig up here. I want you to check in every few hours though."

"Kay," Dawn sighed, "And Antonio?" She whispered the last part, wanting know what she should tell her boyfriend and his family.

"Tell him we were robbed and ask if it's okay if you stay with them a few days," Buffy frowned, she couldn't believe she was actually telling her sister to spend more nights with this kid, "Keep your eyes open."

"Always do," Dawn took a deep breath, not quite another sigh, but almost, "So, how are you? Did you make it to the market today?"

Buffy's eyes fell on Silas, who was still watching her with his unreadable pale eyes, "Uh, no, ran into a bit of trouble with that. Everything's fine now."

"Did you see that creepy monk again?" Dawn's tone was brightening. It was amazing how fast her sister could go from doom and gloom to gossip. Not that Buffy could claim to be much different, "He didn't have anything to do with this, ya think?

"Uh, no," Buffy bit her lip, her eyes lifting to Silas once more, glad he couldn't overhear their conversation.

"Oh he's so there now isn't he!" Dawn shrieked, then quieted herself. Buffy could hear her telling Antonio she was fine. There was a naughty grin in her voice as she went on, "I knew he didn't sound bad creepy, he's like hot creepy isn't he?"

"Uh," Buffy could feel herself go bright red. Luckily Silas had found the pile of clothes in the hall and had disappeared back into the bathroom. The conversation was slightly less embarrassing without him actually standing there.

"Buffy?" Dawn sounded a little worried now, "You still there?"

"Yeah, and yeah, creepy hot," Buffy glanced back up, making sure he wasn't listening, "Seriously creepy hot."

"What about 'The Immortal,'" Dawn was amused again, she knew how annoyed her sister had become with the probable-demon who ran a good chunk of Rome's underworld.

"Pfft" Buffy waved her hand dismissively. She was about to add something, but then bit back a gasp when Silas returned. He was gorgeous. He'd gone with wearing both shirts, the blue over the pink. All the clothes were on the pale side, the pastel shirts, the khakis, he practically glowed in the dim light of an unturned lamp. He stood there nervously, probably uncomfortable in the borrowed clothes, "Uh, listen Dawnie, I gotta go. Call my cell later, 'kay?"

She barely heard her sister agree, though she did make out one last giggle and a "creepy hot," before the line went dead.

"You look nice," Buffy blushed, she couldn't believe what had almost happened between them. She barely knew him!

He fidgeted, but managed a small smile before dropping his eyes. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but nothing came out. His lips pressed into a thin line and he screwed his eyes shut. He began to tremble.

"Oh, hey," Buffy started to go to him, but stopped just short of touching him, "Silas… I, uh, I'm sorry. About what happened, I mean, I shouldn't have-"

"Signorina Buffy," He breathed out, cutting her off, "I am ashamed of my weakness, I- forgive me, please."

"Uh, I was there too you know," Buffy stepped closer, brushing his face with her hand, he flinched away from her, "Takes two to tango and all that. But maybe we should go slower, a lot slower."

His pale eyes opened and turned to her. His expression was the opposite of empty, so many things flickered through his eyes and face that she couldn't keep up. Longing, loathing, love, everything mashed together 'til he couldn't speak with it.

Buffy swallowed and had to look away, "I have to find out who these guys were. Any ideas?"

He watched her, his face unreadable once again. He nodded once and started for the door.

"Ah, wait," Buffy called out a little embarrassed, "I kinda need a shower first too… and to, you know, sundresses and hunting really don't go together much."

He watched her as she babbled. He had stopped walking towards the door, but he made no move to sit on the couch and wait either.

"I'll just… hurry then," Buffy shrugged and disappeared back into her room. Well, this wasn't weird at all, was it?

Buffy dressed conservatively, well, conservatively for her. Everything, her black twill pants, boots and sweater were all still tailored tight, but for the most part she was covered. She was constantly surprised at how off-balance Silas kept her. She'd been sorely tempted to pack Mr. Gordo in the small backpack she'd decided to take with her. He had her that rattled.

He was leaning against the wall in the most shadowed corner of the apartment. He watched her through slitted eyes as she carefully stepped through the remains of her and Dawn's things. He didn't so much as blink when she almost tripped over an unseen remote control. He met her at the door without a word.

They walked in silence. Blocks turned into miles as the night wore on. Buffy could feel the Eternal City's secrets come out to play and their power danced over her skin as the marched on. She longed to break away and patrol, but she reminded herself she was after bigger things.

Eventually they came to an older section of the city, miles from the cosmopolitan center of the Summers' flat. Everything was old and worn, filled with history that stretched well past the United States. Rome had street corners that had witnessed the rise and fall of a dozen empires, houses that had hid secrets that stretched back millennia. Some still hid those kinds of secrets.

Silas led her into a dilapidated wood and stone building that didn't even seem to have electricity. She followed him around as he lit oil lamps and candles. Silas seemed to come into himself more without technology. Candlelight suited him. He sank into a rustic wooden bench that had been smoothed out by decades of use. As Buffy tentatively sat beside him, he turned and grasped her hands. His eyes closed and he bent his head in prayer.

Buffy watched him, once again at a loss. His hair was so pale she could nearly see through it. Like tiny prisms it took the flame light and played with it, breaking into tiny rainbows at each tip. His words were barely a whisper of Latin, but his body quaked and rocked as the prayers escaped him. He bowed his head deeper and kissed her hands.

She was uncomfortable, but she didn't pull away. Her phone began to vibrate, Dawn checking in, but she let it be. She'd call her back in a few minutes. Silas prayed as Buffy watched and the candles burned themselves out.

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	5. Fire Doesn't Dance

Disclaimers: Don't own BTVS, don't own the DVC

His Angel

By: Cousin Mary

Buffy woke to the feel of wind across her bare skin. They'd spent the night in the house, sleeping on straw mats in the front room. Silas had opened most of the windows and the cool morning air streamed through the house like the walls weren't even there. She'd been fully covered the night before, but in her sleep she must have gotten warm because she'd pulled her sweater off and her tank top was riding up high.

She opened her eyes to find Silas standing over her, his expression flashing between anger and something else, something more dangerous. Slowly, ever so slowly, almost as if in a dream, he knelt down and began touching her. His pale hand circled her ankle, massaging it gently but firmly at the same time. His second hand rested on her hip, not quite holding her down, but it was an odd feeling.

His moon eyes were intense on her, as if he was studying the most beautiful artwork he'd ever seen. His breathing was slow and shallow, then he started humming almost silently as his hand moved up her leg.

Buffy found herself arching up into his touch as his hand traced up her hips and onto her stomach. Silas was so removed from anything she'd ever known, but she couldn't help but feel drawn to him. His colorless hand slipped under the hem of her top and she felt his fingertips tracing intricate patterns on her skin.

Their eyes met, but he didn't smile, just stared at her with an intensity that made her gasp. The longing she saw in those pale orbs made it impossible to look away. Seemingly of its own accord, her hand came up and traced the line of his jaw, skimming his lips and ultimately cupping his cheek. He allowed the touch and she and watched, a little bit humbled, when he leaned into the contact. Never had she been so utterly fascinated by anyone. Angel had been her first love, pure and bittersweet and everything it was supposed to be, but in this, with Silas was different, overwhelmingly so.

With Angel, and later with Riley and even Spike, she'd always felt like she knew where things were going. Even when it turned out she'd been wrong, and she hadn't known, she'd never felt at a complete lost. Her mom had once told her romance was like a dance, where each person had their steps and if you were lucky you'd find someone to partner up with, to match and compliment you. Silas wasn't dancing though, Silas was a flame, a burning, consuming madness. Sometimes flames looked like the danced, but they weren't, they just burned.

Silas burned.

She sat up and kissed him. He kissed back, hard and bruising. Never one to play at passivity, Buffy broke the kiss just long enough to peel his shirts over his head. His skin fairly glowed in the dawning light and she leaned in to swipe her tongue over one flat shellpink nipple. He groaned, his head thrown back and his fists clenched at his sides.

She pushed him onto his back, straddling his larger form before he could even register their reversed positions. She bent over him and kissed his face and neck, licking small quick trails over his collarbone and down his chest. He groaned and writhed beneath her, his eyes screwed tightly shut. He was nearly panting, his whole body trembling and his palms pressed flat on either side of the mat on the stone floor.

She sat back to admire him. Her eyes sweeping over his flushed body like he was a feast to be devoured. The lightest trace of translucent hairs trailed from his navel to disappear beneath the too loose waist of his pants. She wanted to follow that trail with her mouth and at the sound of his whimper she knew her intentions must have shown clearly on her face. She looked back to meet Silas's now open eyes. His lips were swollen from their kisses and his cheeks flushed bright, but what had Buffy blown away was the expression of rapture sweeping over his features. It was as if he needed her to touch him like he needed his next breath.

"Please," He whispered, his eyes drifting closes again as his body arched up, begging for any contact.

Buffy was more than willing to do as he wanted, but something stopped her. Something about how completely he was in to what was happening between them. How he wasn't looking at her, how he begged. Not twelve hours ago he'd been apologizing for kissing her, been horrified it had happened at all, and now he wanted more. Much more.

She bit her lip, sitting back on her heels. This was a mistake. Everything was moving way too fast and she didn't want to see that look of self-loathing on Silas's face after everything was said and done. As much as Faith's mantra of 'want, take, have' was running on a continuous loop through her head, she couldn't go through with this no matter how much she wanted to. And she really, really wanted to.

With a shaky sigh she climbed to her unsteady feet, "Silas."

He stilled, once again the perfect marble statue he usually resembled. His body slowly relaxed and his breathing began to calm, only then did his eyes open. There was a look of hurt, of betrayal, but all too soon it drained away until only his passive coolness reflected back at her.

Buffy tried to smile at him as she backed a few feet away, "Guess I'm not very good at the whole taking it slow thing, huh?" She laughed nervously.

He just watched her, his expression unreadable. He hadn't made any move to get up, he just lay there stretched out over the mat where Buffy had slept. His skin was once again pale as could be, except the tiny pink marks that paid testament to her attention.

Buffy groaned and pushed her hand through her hair in a frustrated gesture, "Silas, I'm sorry, again. I – well, you know. I'm going to find coffee, be back in a few." And with that she grabbed her bag and headed towards the door.

She paused before she left and looked over her shoulder at him. He'd rolled on his side, his back, a map of old scars and new welts to her. He didn't say anything as she walked out.

She didn't return for over an hour. She would have stayed away even longer but another check-in call from her sister and her over developed sense of duty had kicked in and wouldn't let her hide any longer. She returned bearing gifts, or at least coffee and pastries. The house was quiet, but then again, Silas wasn't exactly a noisy guy.

Buffy let herself in and circled around the ground floor. The rooms were bare except for the most primitive of furnishings, and the kitchen was little more than an open fireplace with various hooks and grates attached. Silas was no where to be seen, so she mounted the rickety wooden steps to the second floor.

The stairs creaked and rattled and made more than enough noise to announce her so she didn't call out. She still didn't know what to say to the man who'd somehow slipped into her life so completely. She was trying not to think about the fact that he might have left, deciding she was too much trouble and just gone back into the city to forget about her.

First of all, she really had no idea where to start looking for the Order of Dagon, or who ever it was that was after Dawn. Short looking them up in the phonebook, her other option was knocking on the Vatican door and asking about any possibly excommunicated orders that might be trying to bring about hell on Earth. Somehow she doubted either idea would work. Secondly… she didn't want this, whatever it was between her and Silas to end. She didn't understand what was happening, but it felt too amazing to just let it be over. Buffy chewed her lip, almost all the men in her life ended up leaving her. First her dad, then Angel, Riley, for awhile Giles and even Spike if you counted him not telling her about his resurrection in LA, which she so counted. Buffy was sick and tired of men just leaving! Right then and there she made up her mind, if Silas had left, well, hell, she'd just follow him. The pale assed bastard.

That decided, she stomped up the last of the steps only to find Silas sitting on the floor of the loft like room, reading. She threw the bag of food at him and slammed his coffee onto the stair rail, "We're going soon right? Burning daylight here."

He raised an eyebrow at her outburst, but didn't comment. She was all worked up and ready for a fight but he wasn't rising to the bait. He just reached out and pulled the bag into his lap, he selected a cannoli and looked back up at her. His eyes were still as unreadable as ever, but his lips tipped up in an almost smile that threatened to make her knees buckle, "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Buffy huffed and headed back downstairs. He'd smiled at her for the food. Smiled! After everything! She just didn't understand him, she really didn't. But he hadn't left and that made her want to smile too.

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	6. Sanctuary

Disclaimers: Don't own BTVS, don't own the DVC A/N: Playing with the facts again here. Yes, there's traditionally a St. Anne, though I'm pretty sure she was not in fact a Slayer ;-)

His Angel By: Cousin Mary

Buffy wasn't sure just how they entered Vatican City. It wasn't through the usual route that was for sure. No one checked her passport, which was good since she hadn't thought to bring it, no one even asked her name. She got in because she was wearing a silver cross and she was with Silas, which apparently was enough. 

The center of the Church was drenched in history and a psychic vibe so thick even without the slayerness Buffy was sure she'd have picked it up. They came in through the Papal Church of Saint Anne, which boasted a tiny back hall shrine to what was probably the Slayer line, various female saints and martyrs were depicted, usually holding weapons. It didn't go unnoticed that the church sat between the Vatican's two barracks either. 

Silas played tour guide as they walked down the empty marble halls. It was more than Buffy had ever heard him speak and his voice grew raspy after the first few lines, but when his voice left him he'd just pause and continue after a moment, shooting glances up and down the halls as they went. Saint Anne had been a strong woman, pious and independent. She had led a note-worthy life, at this point Silas had given Buffy a long, meaningful look, before reaching an advanced age where she took a husband. That she "took a husband" and not the other way around also provoked a long look from Silas. 

Anne and her husband were, however, unable to have a child. And while her husband just wanted children, as any man did, Anne was known to pray desperately for a daughter. Eventually those prayers were answered and Mary came to be born. Mary, dedicated to the temple on her third birthday led a harsh life herself, filled with peril and a quest to protect and champion the innocent. Eventually she too married and bore only one son, the son of the one true Lord.

Buffy wasn't sure what to say to that. Sure it made sense that some Slayers would go down as Saints in the history books, if there was a historian around when they did their slaying that is, but the implications hung heavy in the air. For a long while Buffy couldn't meet Silas's gaze and she just pretended to be fascinated by the various murals and display cases.

There were armories at both barracks, but it was the hidden one under the Vatican's Post Office that Silas led her to. Still as a crypt, the doors creaked open only after Buffy added her weight to Silas's push. Somewhere along the way, Silas had picked up some sort of battery-powered lantern like thingy that was flickering back and forth from white light to yellow. Buffy's inner-slayer was almost purring as they descended deep into the earth. The stairs never seemed to stop and the walls themselves were riddles and puzzles of carved omens and prophesies. Women fighting, girls crying, killing, dying. The Chosen one was not a secret in the Holy See.

Like she'd known scythe had been meant for her, everything here, every door, step, breath of air was hers too. She took the lead from Silas then, bounding down the dark steps well out of the reach of her pale shadow's eyes. If a graveyard was a Slayer's playground, then this was the Slayer's sanctuary.

Further down, almost at the base, there were candles lit, hidden away in alcoves, even sitting bare on the stairs, but it didn't feel as if there'd been anyone there for a long time. It felt like it had been waiting, for her.

When they reached the chapel it was like the sun had drowned in blood. Buffy's breath caught. The cavernous space seemed to be carved out of gold, embossed images of Saints and Martyrs fought for space on the walls and ceiling. Everywhere rubies and garnets were their blood, onyx and ebony serving as the demons they destroyed. There weren't pews, just ruts worn into the stone floor from kneeling and pacing. Before the altar there were old blood stains, where broken slayers had been brought home one last time.

The feminine warrior, the fierce protector. Mothers, daughters, sisters all. This was their place.

Buffy breathed slowly through her nose before turning to Silas who was watching her with his pale moon eyes, "So where do we get started?"

He didn't speak, he probably figured he'd used up a weeks worth of words on the tour, he just led her past the altar and into what could only be called a library of weapons. Categorized and blessed, relics stood gleaming and sharp over tiny cards telling how they'd been used and by whom. That some of the Slayers' names had been passed down had Buffy's throat closing up. You didn't get into the slaying gig for fame and fortune, you didn't even have a choice, not really, but it was nice… cards were nice.

Stacked between the weapon cases were books. Hundreds of old tomes that Buffy had failed to notice until Silas began going through them. But in all honesty, it was hard to care about musty old books when there were so many shiny pretties to look at. Silas had to go through the books alone since they weren't written in English. At least with Giles' books you could flip through the non-English ones and look for pictures of the demon and/or amulet, but in this case Buffy didn't have any clue what to look for other than random monks and given this was the Vatican there were probably more than a few of those.

The weapons were gorgeous though. Swords, axes, spears and things that Buffy couldn't name with curved blades and delicate thorn-like barbs. She wandered through the room stepping over carved stone markers on the floor that may have been the last resting place of long gone Slayers. The place was quiet with a small alcove filled with candles, she lit a few for those she'd lost and for all the girls who'd come before her.

Hours passed, though there was no way to mark the time except how far the candles had burned. Silas was perched, statue still among sandstone saints that were darker than him, and gold plaques that shone only about half as brightly as his hair. One book after another passed through his hands as Buffy practiced with some of the weapons out in the main chapel. No one came down to check on them and, for Buffy, everything shrank down to the flickering light, the faint rasp of Silas's breath and the slow burn of her working muscles. 

Buffy's dance became more and more intricate, her feet flying nearly as fast as the twin blades in her hands. She'd never fought with weapons like the two long, golden blades in her grasp, but it was as if they were teaching her how to use them as she went. They were fast becoming her new favorites.

Silas was watching her through the open door. Not all the time, between books maybe, every few minutes she could feel his moon eyes on her. She tried not to think about it, tried to leave it out of her practice, but she found herself showing off for him… just a little. After a few minutes he wasn't reading anymore, just watching her. His normally raspy breath had grown faster and at the same time huskier. When he started fingering his rosary beads though, Buffy knew it was time to stop.

"So… anything?" She asked, wiping the sweat off her forehead and neck with the sleeve of her UC Sunnydale hoodie.

"Perhaps," Silas nodded, his head dipping low but his eyes never leaving hers, "It is written that the Order of Dagon once had many strongholds in Italia, the largest of which was in the city-state of Venice hidden among the banks and storehouses."

"Venice?" Buffy echoed. Dawn and her had had plans to do the touristy thing in Venice during her sister's next school break. A city seeped in culture and the arts, part of her had assumed there wouldn't be too big of a supernatural problem, of course, monks didn't really count as supernatural, well, they didn't until they started trying to get their hands on her little sister again. She chewed her lip as she though about it, unconsciously stepping closer to the weapons cache as she did. They still didn't know for sure it was these monks behind everything, it could be different monks… or people pretending to be monks or what was left of the old Council, or the Initiative, long shot, yeah, but the point was that she really didn't know what they were dealing with. But what other lead did they have? Dawn was safe with her boyfriend for now and they had to try something, just waiting for another attack would do no good. Buffy looked back at Silas, his face as unreadable as ever, "We head to the soggy city then?"

He didn't answer, just took a harsh breath and began walking through the chapel, past her and up the steep staircase. His hand, pale against the carved wall of the case, trailed slightly behind him, the only indication that he even expected her to follow. He'd moved quickly at first, almost as if he were trying to get away from her, but after a few steps he slowed. Once he was up the steps far enough that she couldn't see him, he slowed even further, his muffled steps coming more measured and deliberate. He was waiting for her… sort of.

"So Venice it is," Buffy realized she was talking to herself, but shrugged it off and grabbed her bag and new shinies, "Always wanted to ride in a gondola anyway."

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	7. Scenic Train Ride

Disclaimers: Don't own BTVS, don't own the DVC

His Angel By: Cousin Mary

They're trip to Venice didn't start off at all like the mystical quest she'd been expecting. After their late night, fog shrouded mystery jaunt into the bowels of the Vatican, she'd been all geared up for some hidden magic door or possibly a suped up Popemobile. What she got was the back seat of a crowded commuter train that smelled of too many bodies and too little deodorant. Add the epitome of anti-social monks huddled in the corner window seat pretending to be asleep and what you had left was Buffy by her lonesome trying to figure out what the hell Vogue Italia was talking about.

No one on the train realized they were together. Already 3 different sets of American tourists and a hell of a lot of Italian guys had come up to ask her to sit with, eat and/or drink with them. She'd politely declined each offer, but whenever someone came up she could feel Silas tense beside her. He was one unhappy monk.

As the Italian landscape rolled by people came and left the train in a not so steady stream. Sometimes the car would be burst so much that they could hardly breath, other times there were just a few heads bent over maps or gameboys. Once, when it was particularly empty, Buffy reached over and took Silas's hand. He didn't want to let her, but sometimes being the Slayer meant you got your way. His hand was as pale as the rest of him. It was strange, you came to expect pale and sickly to go together, but he wasn't. His hand was large and strong, the palm callused and the knuckles hardened and crisscrossed with pale pink scar tissue. He'd been in fights, lots of them.

When the train stopped again he tried to reclaim his hand, but no one new got on so she kept it. She had his hand in her lap and she was studying it like it was an interesting seashell or a new kind of crossbow bolt. There was a faint dusting of translucent hair on the back, barley noticeable if you didn't look close. His nails were neatly trimmed, not spa manicure league, but nice, pale and slightly pink with the blood under the cuticle. She held his wrist easily in one hand and traced the lifeline with a nail from the other, he let out a hiss under his breath.

"Signorina," His voice held a warning, but of what she wasn't sure. She took her gaze off his hand and met his eyes. His pale eyes were intent on her, the pupils almost swallowing up the ice blue iris. He'd been watching her the whole time, watching her examine his hand, watching her touch him. His leg pressed against hers.

Buffy drew a sharp breath and looked around the car. There were still a few people, but they were much further up and not paying them any mind. She didn't release his hand, but pulled until his shoulder pressed against her, she pressed his hand into her thigh and threw one of her legs up over both of his. She could feel him through their clothes.

He shifted in his seat as the train started to move again. He shifted again and somehow got his hand loose, only to grip her upper thigh so tightly that if she'd been a normal girl she'd have bruised. His eyes never left hers as his hand massaged her thigh and he continued shifting in his seat. A definite rhythm was setting in. 

Buffy bit back a groan. They were on a public train, they couldn't be doing this. 

Silas's other hand pressed down her knee as he continued to shift, his hands both on her. Buffy could feel the color rising on her cheeks, at the same time all she felt was heat. She could hear him breathing, every puff of air a growl of possession. 

The train passed through a tunnel and the car was plunged into darkness. Silas's hand slid up her thigh and pressed hard against her. He had to feel how he was affecting her. In the dark, she felt his head dip as his pressed his mouth to her chest, right at the neckline of her tank top, sinking his teeth into the upper curve of her left breast. 

The tunnel ended and he pulled away just before the light filtered back in through the smoky yellow-gray of the train windows. She looked down and could make out the perfect pink indentations his teeth had left. She pulled up her top an inch or so to cover the bite. The train had stopped again and people were boarding. They had to separate and she was on fire. 

Silas pulled away and turned back to the window, slipping away easily like he hadn't been touching her at all. Buffy fumbled for her Vogue, and it wasn't until several minutes had passed and she'd gotten two strange looks from the woman newly seated across from her that she realized she was holding it upside down.

It was going to be a long trip.

Venice was as picture perfect as she'd imagined. Or it would have been if she'd been able to think of anything other than how uncomfortable the last three plus hours of their train ride had been. They needed to talk and lay some ground rules or something or she was seriously going to lose it.

Silas had disappeared the second they'd arrived. Though whether to the bathroom or straight to the nearest monastery she hadn't a clue. She wiped her hand down her face, there was something else she'd failed to consider. Or really, she'd considered, decided she hadn't wanted to deal with it, then set about ignoring it. But it was time, past time. He was a monk. There were vows and things. A monk! What was she even doing considering… 

Just when Buffy was contemplating heading off to a convent of her own, Silas reappeared with two bottled waters and a box of that bore the logo of something in Italian, but probably food. 

"Uh, thanks," She smiled and let him lead her over to a row of small tables not far from a bank of phones. They sat across from each other and ate bread pieces with olive-y dipping stuff. He didn't say anything, but really he wasn't ever the most talkative of guys. 

She should have said something about the train but every time she met his eyes one of them ended up looking away. Neither of them said anything, and at first the strain between them was almost a palpable thing, but then it started to fade. Like they could have said something, but the longer they waited the less likely it was that they would, and then it was over, the chance to say whatever was gone. 

"So," Buffy smiled winningly after the last of the bread is gone, "Where to?"

"I have an-" He trailed off, his pale eyes darting around, trying to spot anyone listening in, "An associate. We will stay with him and start our search from there. We must be cautious, Signorina, for many may oppose us."

"Buffy," She told him, at his blank look she added, "My name, you can use it you know. No need to be all formal guy."

He looked a bit uneasy with that, but gave a small nod.

"Uh, your associate," Buffy bit her lip, unsure on how to ask. It wasn't really something she was dying to bring up, "Is he, uh, like you?"

Silas's eyes narrowed, "Like me?"

"You know, a monk."

Silas had obviously been expecting something else and an expression crossed his face that Buffy couldn't quite figure out. But he shook his head and grunted something brusquely before standing up and grabbing their bags. She followed after him puzzled by his sudden change of mood.

It wasn't a far walk from the train station to the pier lined with water-taxies and ferries that would take them down the Grand Canal and to the area Silas's so far unnamed "associate" lived. She was a little unsure about staying with someone she'd never met, but she didn't have much choice other than to trust Silas's judgment. She just hoped they weren't making a huge mistake.

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	8. Venice

Disclaimers: Don't own BTVS, don't own the DVC

His Angel By: Cousin Mary

She hadn't thought the canals of Venice would be squeaky clean. Really, she hadn't given it much thought, but in her mind she'd pictured something like the water from Disneyland's rides, like It's a Small World or Pirates of the Caribbean. Funny colored, kind of smelly, where too many people overwhelmed the water no matter how many gallons of chlorine you dumped in.

But Venice wasn't like that. It was dirty, but it was also alive. There were fish down there, plants, things with shells and slime. Venice's canals rose and fell with the tides, it breathed. Little bits of in no way natural foam sat atop the water almost the same way as the confectionary looking houses did. Huge mansions lined the Grand Canal like a picture postcard brought to life and the sun glinted off the hundreds of windows like it did the water and the whole place seemed to glow.

There were no cars in Venice, cause hey, water, but according to the tourists she listened in on, with about 400 bridges almost every area of the city was accessible on foot. Venice was a city built for a Slayer, especially a Slayer with car-  
hate. 

Silas was quiet next to her. He wasn't very comfortable with the crush of people on the waterbus and his knuckles were white as he clutched the railing. The light played over his face, his eyes narrowed and widened as it shone on him and retreated, the only sign that he was really there at all. He was doing his detached statue thing again. She sighed and leaned against him, he froze and she actually had to physically put his arm around her waist.

"See, normal couple here," She smiled as she whispered up at him, "Nothing to see, nothing to remember."

He looked blankly down at her for a beat, then pulled her more snuggly against him. It was nice.

After awhile they got off the bus and walked. Venetian grandeur gave way to quaint little houses that were so close together they looked like one long building that stretched for blocks, the only way you could tell they were separate at all was that they were painted different colors, reds, pinks and yellows, aquas and ochres. Doors were arched and the windows rectangles set back behind wide sills filled with potted plants and drying laundry.

Silas carried both of their bags, though Buffy insisted on keeping her swords draped over her back. The black nylon sheaths didn't look like weapon cases and she had one elderly touristy couple stop and ask her what kind of billiard cue she preferred. She'd looked at them blankly for a full minute before Silas had interrupted and dragged her away.

As the sun began to set on Venice the entire city turned to gold. The water, the buildings, the whole sky lit up like a million candles had been lit when they weren't looking. Music poured out of the open doorways of every café they passed and the muted laughter and the sound of the lapping water lulled Buffy into a warm sense of contentment. She leaned against Silas again and this time he didn't hesitate to wrap his free arm around her. 

They stopped because the sidewalk stopped. The canal didn't, she could see the buildings stretch on, hovering directly over the canal for a hundred more yards, but the walkway ended with a short staircase that led up to a faded yellow building trimmed in white. Silas looked around, obviously a little unsure that this was the right place, but eventually he mounted the steps and lifted the ornate knocker that looked to be made of some sort of heavy glass. 

At first there was nothing. They stood on the small stone landing, listening for any signs of life behind the slightly warped wooden door, but there wasn't any. Once the sun was down, Venice took on the chill of a graveyard almost immediately. It was the water, Buffy assumed, the damp on the old stone, the moss, the slight ammonia smell of cats marking their territory along the cobbled walkways.

Eventually the door opened and there stood a woman, Buffy would put her no older than her early thirties, with a riot of dark curls and eyes so black they nearly put Darth Willow's to shame. The woman gave Buffy a puzzled look before glancing up to see her companion, who she immediately smiled at.

"Silas! My friend! So good to see you in my home!" The woman's English was good, heavily accented with something less lyrical than Italian, but Buffy had never been very good at placing people. She was kind of attractive, if you were into that whole exotic, curvy and gorgeous thing. Buffy found Silas's eyes intent on her even as his friend grabbed their bags and pulled them inside. The monk didn't look overly happy, though the Slayer was at a loss to explain why.

The woman, Gechina, explained she was literature professor at Università Ca' Foscari Venezia, she was single and this was her fifth year in Venice. She was teaching a class on Pushkin and a general survey course on Romantic Literature. She talked, a lot, and after all the time Buffy had spent with her pale, usually silent, shadow, it was a bit overwhelming. Buffy smiled politely, but even as she did, she couldn't help think that Silas's friend was a bit odd. Though maybe she was just Continental. She still wasn't sure what 'Continental' meant, but it seemed to be European for weirdo.

Gechina's apartment was an explosion of colors and textured. Apparently, Venice was famous for it's marbled paper, which from what Buffy could gather was regular paper hand drizzled with about a billion colors in every pattern imaginable. Gechina's walls were covered with dozens of examples, all framed and mounted on the walls, floor to ceiling. The furniture was eclectic, all heavy hardwoods in one corner and high-tech glass in the other. She had a bed, full bed, pillows, comforter, the whole nine yards in the middle of her sitting room. But it made sense when she dimmed the lights as it was in front of a bank of windows and outside you could watch the barely lit gondolas float by. It's where Silas and her would be staying.

That Gechina seemed to have no problem with putting her friend, the monk, out on a huge bed with a random American girl was a little strange. But the truth was, the literature professor didn't have problems with most things as far as Buffy could tell. She was one of those take a big bite of life and let the juices drizzle down your chin kind of people. Like Faith without the anger, but possibly even more sex. That her and Silas were friends was throwing off everything Buffy knew about the man.

Gechina was dipped in perfume, expensive stuff like her mom had worn only on special occasions. She clearly loved eye-liner and bright, fire engine red lipstick. Her dress was a tight, black and purple thing that bared more cleavage than it covered. Silas wasn't staring, in fact he seemed more interested in the contents of the bookcase than anything, but Buffy couldn't seem to look away. They were like those paintings, where the eyes follow you around the room, only with boobs.

The woman flitted around the room, asking if they needed anything before disappearing up a wrought iron spiral staircase that apparently led to her bedroom. She came back a few minutes later, dripping in funky, obviously expensive, jewelry before heading out. She was had a date and they weren't to wait up.

"If I had known sooner that you were coming my friends I would have canceled," She trailed off with an elegant shrug, "Help yourselves to whatever you desire. Ciao!"

And with that they were alone. In Venice. With a big, brass bed.

"So, Gechina, she's certainly," Buffy searched for the right word, "Colorful."

Silas didn't say anything at first. He walked around the big, open floor plan room restlessly. He was avoiding looking at the bed, she noticed. He put their bags in the corner, by the radiator and sat down. The chair he'd chosen was a straight backed, spindly legged piece d'art, upholstered in lime green. He looked ridiculously uncomfortable. Really, nothing in the swanky Venetian flat looked like anything Silas would go near even if dared. He folded his hands in his lap and looked out the window. Finally he said, "She has change since the convent."

"She's a nun?!" She hadn't seen that coming. When Silas didn't say anything, she walked around him and put herself between him and the view, "Seriously?"

"She never took vows," He was scowling at past her, like she wasn't there at all.

Buffy huffed and walked around to sit on the bed. "Whoa," She gasped as she sank a good five inches into the thick, goosedown mattress. There were a series of small switch next to the bed, so she flipped one at random. Tiny fairy lights came to life around the top of the bed canopy and around the room. Another switch set soft music playing. Gechina had a bachelorette pad like nobody's business. The other switches would probably pop a bottle of champagne and rip Silas's clothes right off. Buffy's fingers hovered, but at the monk's already decidedly panicked look, she decided not to try any more switches quite yet. "When did you last see her?"

Silas was glaring at the tiny strings of lights over the windows like he wanted to rip them down and stomp on them, but after a moment he pulled his attention away to look at her. When he saw she was on the bed, he immediately looked down at the floor with pink tinged cheeks.

"I saw her last at a conference in Paris two years ago," Silas frowned at the floor, "She was… conservative then, or seemed so." He glanced up at Buffy again, this time managing to meet her eyes without blushing, "I apologize for bringing you here."

"So not a problem," Buffy managed not to snort, she'd shared a house with lesbians, was sister slayers with wham, bam thank-you Faith and had spent way too much time with an orgasm loving Anya to ever be freaked out by Gechina, no matter how Continental she was, "She didn't know you were coming though? Two years and you just show up? With another woman?"

Silas's pale eyes widened, "There was nothing- She-" The monk climbed to his feet and moved closer to the bed, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. He was within a few inches, so close he could reach out and touch her if he wanted, when he stopped and grimaced. "I am here to do God's work. To help you, Signorina."

It was Buffy's turn to frown. She didn't have a clue what to say to that. At her silence, Silas nodded and moved to the rug in front of the small marble fireplace. He laid down in all appearance to sleep, but thanks to Slayer vision she could see his lips moving silently in prayer. She knew better than to ask him to join her on the bed, but she wanted to. Badly.  
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	9. Artifacts Make the Heart Grow Fonder

Disclaimers: Don't own BTVS, don't own the DVC

His Angel By: Cousin Mary

The next morning Gechina hadn't come back. No real surprise there, the Romantic Lit professor had that air that she'd show up again shortly before her next class, rumpled, tired and smiling from ear to ear. Buffy was starting to seriously resent Gechina. As for the Slayer herself, she took a shower, a cold one, while Silas did some sort of mediation/prayer routine in front of the fireplace.

After her skin numbing experience, Buffy tried to finish up her morning routine and brush out her hair, but conditioner didn't seem to work as well without hot water… Anyway, she'd decided to cool it with Silas, hence the shower, a powerful and uncomfortable reminder that she was on a mission, an important world saving, or at least sister saving, mission that required her complete concentration. And there was no time for smoochies anyway, no matter that they were probably the most knee-melting smoochies of her life.

Silas was a hot and cold running hottie, but he sent out more mixed messages than a blackberry in a blender. For example, he'd spent the last night avoiding looking at her, but when he'd fallen asleep he'd gasped out her name all breathy like at least four times! He'd obviously been having some pretty interesting dreams, but the noises he'd been making had ensured that Buffy hadn't gotten much sleep herself, and what she'd had had hardly been restful. Then when he'd woken in the morning he'd blushed and refused to look at her until she'd headed up the stairs for her shower, then he'd stared. She'd ignored him. Silas wasn't ready for anything and she had to stop letting him get to her. If she was cookie dough then he was a bag of flour, sugar and eggs sitting on the counter next to an unheated oven. 

There, she'd almost convinced herself that she could keep her hands off him. And that resolve lasted all the way back down the stairs where she found that he'd made her breakfast and was eager to finish so they could go off into the city. His quiet brand of enthusiasm was infectious, even if his coffee was a little on the weak side. He seemed quite pleased with the coffee though, or maybe he was pleased with something else. He'd found new clothes somewhere, that Gechina kept an assortment of men's clothes for every occasion wasn't that big of a surprise either, but seeing Silas in dark slacks and a blue/gray silk shirt was making her wonder if he'd notice if she took off for another cold shower.

When they slipped back out onto the walkways of Venice it was into golden light and the scent of the sea. She was glad Silas seemed to know where they were going, because between the tiny alleys and the dozen bridges she was hopelessly lost. Idle speed boats bumped against moorings as barges floated almost silently down the canals. Everywhere there was the sound of motors whirling, water splashing and the constant chatter of a thousand conversations. Venice, for all it's history, brimmed with life and the here and now. Historical fountains and sites were used as much today as they had been centuries ago.

Silas led her to a church that was hidden away along one of the smaller canals among run down apartment buildings and a huge glassworks factory. Buffy could hear fires burning as they passed and the building itself seemed to radiate heat out onto the sidewalk. The church was the had an almost dingy looking white plaster façade with four windows that were too high for Buffy to look through. Unlike the other churches they'd passed, the double doors weren't thrown open to welcome in the faithful, instead the place looked almost deserted.

Silas pushed open one of the doors until it gave way with a long, low creak. He left her standing in the doorway, with only a quick look and a lingering hand on the shoulder to tell her he'd be back. Buffy looked around the small space, tiny oil lamps sat seemingly abandoned on low tables that sat against either wall. There was another set of double doors, also closed, that probably led into the main chapel, but out where Buffy'd been left there were just the lamps, the tables and the dirty floor. A small plaque, that was lower than you'd except, explained in Italian, English and what was probably French, that the church had been founded in the tenth century and restored many times. Looking around again, Buffy wasn't too sure about that. It went on to say that in the eighteenth century the new floor had been added over the elder because of all the plague victims buried inside. Well, wasn't that pleasant?

Silas slipped back out through a small, hidden door off to the side that Buffy hadn't noticed. He motioned for her to follow and with one last look at the filthy floor, she did. They went up a rickety staircase which was lit by one of the high windows that let in just barely enough light to make out the ancient, splintering wood and the moths that fluttered in the gloom. Up and up they went, further than Buffy had thought possible in the relatively squat building. When the case came to an end they were in a small room tucked under the rafters. Silas had to hunch over because there wasn't enough room for him to stand, Buffy could, but just barely and only if she stayed in the middle where the roof peaked. The only light was what crept up through the unevenly spaced floorboards, through which Buffy could see the ordinary, almost plain looking chapel underneath. 

Across the way, Silas began ripping into the cardboard boxes that were stacked far back under the roofline. Spiders and a few mice scurried away as he tugged and scraped the large boxes along the floor and out into the relatively bigger center of the… attic, or where ever they were. They smelled musty and when the lids came off they were stuffed with newspapers advertising miniskirts and Volkswagons Beetles. 

What followed were some of the strangest objects Buffy'd seen together in one place. Metal objects that weren't weapons, but rather artifacts that would have made Giles drool…probably, though she assumed Giles would have known what they were for and been suitably impressed. But as it was, when Silas handed her the scepter looking gadget all she could do was hope none of the tarnish got off on her sweater. 

He collected a few more items, wrapped them in a burlap sack, she wasn't sure where he'd been carrying that, and then shoved the mostly empty boxes back where they'd been. Probably not to be seen again for a few more decades if not longer. Then they left. She followed him for a few blocks in silence, still trying to piece things together and ask a half way intelligent question, but all she could really come up with was, "Huh?"

Silas turned back to look at her, his sack of plunder clanging against his back as he did, "Signorina?"

She looked at him, waiting for an explanation, but he just looked back. All still and statue-y. "We just went all Indiana Jones and the Temple of James Bond back there and I'd like to know why."

His pale brows lowered but he didn't respond right away. He was possibly thinking of an answer, or possibly trying to figure out how God's angel was so dense. And normally Buffy would have felt bad, but she was rapidly running out of patience. The Order of Dagon, or whoever was behind the kidnappings and ransacking, had a big head start on them and without any sort of clue what was going on there wasn't anything she could do. And Slayers needed to do, otherwise they were just Sitters, and there was no way in hell she was going to be Buffy the Sitter!

"Well?" Buffy pointed at the sack, then shoved her thumb back to indicate the church behind them, "What is that stuff and that place?"

"The St. Simone Profeta was once a stronghold against the occult here in Venice," Silas fidgeted under her gaze, as if unsure what to say, "These objects will help us defend against their forces."

"Who's forces?" Buffy was confused.

Once again Silas hesitated, "I-"

"Evil's forces?" Buffy started to smile despite herself.

Silas's pale eyes darted away, "I was mistaken, I apologize- I-"

"Hey, hey," Buffy's amusement faded and she put her hand on the monk's arm, "It's me who should be making with the I'm sorries, I keep forgetting that you aren't a big ol' veteran of what goes bump in the night. And I," She moved her hand to his cheek when he frowned, "And I don't need you to be. I can take whatever the bad guys send our way, I just need help figuring out who the baddies are, ya know?"

He didn't look terribly convinced, but at least he didn't look like he was going to die of embarrassment. 

"And hey," Buffy smiled, holding up her sceptery-hatchet thing, "Maybe this stuff will come in handy anyway. You never know."

Silas didn't answer, just led her back through the maze of walkways to Gechina's.

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